The Widow of Windsor

Chapter XXIV GOLDEN JUBILEE

The Queen’s Ministers reminded her that in this year of 1887 she would have reigned for fifty years. There must be a celebration. The people would expect it; besides it was a glorious occasion. How many other monarchs had reigned for so long? The Queen must waive her objections to pageants. This was an occasion. She sighed and gave way.

There had been a secret anxiety in the family for some months. Vicky’s husband Fritz had developed a throat infection and Vicky was very worried about his health. She feared the worst. The doctors were extremely grave and there was a suggestion that Fritz had a malignant tumour of the throat. Vicky could not bear to contemplate this. Her position in Germany was not a happy one. Bismarck had always disliked her; her father-in-law and his wife had resented her; and worst of all her eldest son, Wilhelm, now married, treated her very badly. Her one friend had been the gentle Fritz, her husband, and as he was the Crown Prince, in spite of his mild nature he had been a powerful one until his illness.

Wilhelm was a cruel young man. His arrogance had grown as he became older; Vicky wondered whether they had made too many excuses for his deformed arm which he cleverly disguised by his uniforms; but he had certainly turned out a very undutiful son. He despised his father for being weak and his mother for being English. He had an obsessional hatred for the English which Uncle Bertie with his bonhomie and his extravagance when travelling abroad seemed to have intensified. Uncle Bertie received the full force of his venom. He was the opposite of Wilhelm. Bertie could at times be arrogant when his royalty was assailed, but his good-nature, desire for friendship towards all kinds of people, his generosity, his love of gaiety, his amorous adventures, everything endeared him to the people. Wilhelm’s haughty arrogance, his obsession with the greatness of the German Empire and his manner towards those about him made him very unpopular. He was in awe of his grandmother Queen Victoria. She was one of the few persons he respected; and the fact that Uncle Bertie was her eldest son and heir to a vast and growing Empire filled him with rage. He longed to rule that Empire. He had been influenced by Bismarck whose doctrines he had eagerly absorbed; his grandparents had fostered his desires for the aggrandisement of the German Empire; and Wilhelm now saw his great and mighty rival as the British Empire. His grandmother seemed a fitting ruler; on the occasions when he visited her she could by a look make him feel that he was a boy in the nursery again. Yet she never failed to show him affection and had often told him that her husband the Prince Consort had had great hopes of him, his first grandchild. Yes, Wilhelm could accept Grandmama Victoria as the mighty ruler; but to think of all that glory passing into the hands of frivolous Uncle Bertie drove him into such a fury that he felt he would do anything to prevent its doing so. And his mother was Uncle Bertie’s sister! He hated the English – and it was galling that he was half English himself, though the English half, he consoled himself, was strongly flavoured with German.

With such a son, and a husband whom she feared to be dying, poor Vicky was in great distress.

She wrote to her mother and begged her to send her an English doctor who was known throughout the world to be an authority on cancer. This was Dr Morell Mackenzie. The German doctors wished to operate. Vicky felt this would be fatal and she hoped Dr Mackenzie would disagree with their verdict.

The Queen immediately sent Dr Mackenzie to Germany. To Vicky’s delight he said that Fritz was not suffering from cancer and he thought he might be cured with the right treatment.

‘Oh, Mama, it is such a relief,’ wrote Vicky.

Poor child, thought the Queen; and she was glad that Fritz would be able to attend the Jubilee.

The 20th of June 1887. She awoke early. She read through her Journal and remembered that long-ago day – one of the most important in her life, some would say the most important, but her wedding day would always be first with her. Mama had come into her bedroom carrying a candlestick to awaken her and she had known immediately. How young she had been – how inexperienced! Eighteen years old and to be a Queen. Lehzen had been there with smelling salts, she remembered; and even then she had scorned the idea. She had meant to be a Queen.

Dear Lord Melbourne had been there to sustain her; she shed a tear for Lord Melbourne. So godlike he had seemed until Albert came along and showed her how weak, how ineffectual all men were compared with Albert.

And now she had been fifty years a Queen.

She thought: And I am alone to celebrate it, for although I have my children I have always been alone since the loss of that dear beloved one.

As she rose, the sun shone brilliantly and she breakfasted out of doors and afterwards drove to the station. Crowds cheered her all the way. The royal train was waiting to take her to Paddington Station; and once more loyal crowds shouted their approval as she rode through the Park to Buckingham Palace.

The streets were already decorated for the great tomorrow. That day she received the visiting royalty and there was a grand dinner-party for the crowned heads of Europe, most of whom had close family ties with the Queen.

She retired early in readiness for the great day.

How magnificent it was! Tears filled her eyes because Albert was not there to share it with her. The thousands who lined the streets shouted their loyal greetings as she came into sight in her open carriage drawn by six magnificent cream-coloured horses; she had especially wanted to be escorted by Indian cavalry, not only as a compliment to her new subjects but also to remind people of the greatness of her Empire.

Behind her rode Bertie, Alfred and Arthur. Alas, there was one son missing, dear Leopold. One thought of these sad losses at such a time. All her sons-in-law were there. It was a great joy that dear Fritz had not been absent as she had feared he might. It was true he could scarcely speak; that fearful affliction of the throat prevented that; but he looked magnificent. How proud Albert would have been to see Germany represented in such a manner and to know the little German States were now one mighty Empire and Vicky would one day be Empress. The German Eagle on Fritz’s helmet brought a frenzy of cheering from the crowd. For the Germans! thought the Queen when she heard it and knew for whom it was intended. They knew how to show their might. All her grandsons were there, including of course Wilhelm, of whom Vicky had complained so bitterly. He would be feeling gratified at the cheers for his father.

What an impressive moment it was when she walked into the Abbey to the sound of a march by Handel! And of course Albert’s own composition must be included in the ceremony; on that she had insisted. He could not be with her in the flesh but his music should be there; the choir sang the anthem which he had written and her eyes were glazed with tears as she listened.

My dearest Albert, how different everything would have been had you been spared to me! she thought. Everything else I could have borne if you had been with me.

But he had been taken and she had her children. Then she thought of Alice and Leopold, the lost ones, and how sad it was that they so young should be gone and she an old woman still here. Then all the grandchildren. How proud Albert would have been of them!

Her bonnet – made of lace and glittering with diamonds – shook a little. She had insisted on bonnets for all the women including herself, although many were shocked at the idea and thought she should have worn the crown. But she had said it should be a bonnet and she was the Queen and if she could not always have her way in State matters, she would over a matter of bonnets.

She felt tired but elated when they returned to the Palace; but of course this was not the end. The great entertainment was about to begin.

She was helped into her dress embroidered with jewels, representing England, Scotland and Ireland, roses, thistles and shamrocks – and then to the great banqueting hall to receive all the visiting royalties and the many guests who had come from all over the world to celebrate her fifty years as Queen.

At last the long day was over and she sank gratefully into bed; but not to sleep, to brood on the past fifty years and through her mind paraded the significant figures of the past – the Uncle Kings, George and William; dear kind Aunt Adelaide; Mama with whom there had been such storms; the well-beloved Lord Melbourne; the at first hated and afterwards deeply respected Sir Robert Peel; dear exciting Mr Disraeli; the heartily disliked Mr Gladstone – still not escaped from, she feared; good faithful John Brown; all her living children – and those dear dead ones; the grandchildren; the family by marriage. So many of them dominated always by the one great figure: Albert.

Oh, Albert, if you had lived to see this day, she kept telling herself, how different everything would have been!

Her Golden Jubilee – fifty years since that long ago June day when they awakened her from her bed; and nearly twenty-seven years since she had lost her love, and therefore her zest for living. And she still mourned him. His was the face that came to her whenever she thought of the past.

‘Albert,’ she cried on this great night, as she had cried so often during the last twenty-six years, ‘why were you taken from me?’